He crawled

He crawled before walking,
ran before flying,
collected punctures and marks,
opened a gateway to fantasy
leaving carnage on the runway.

Turbulent episodes’ ensued;
a ridge of low pressure descended
until he crashed and burned,
crawling childlike from the wreckage.

This man who’s tattooed forearm reads
‘only god can judge me’
the same who’d prayed for the man in the next bed
is judged by pious, cold case detectives
who pour over his rap sheet;
fold arms and bleet,
pointing to behavior
ignoring symptoms or cause.

Three critical weeks in the hands of
benevolence in baby blue,
a metal tree bearing vital fruit,
a legitimate cocktail flowing through vines,
fuse into the stillness of his being.

Pink Floyd now whispers into his ear
as we, his parents,
each with a role to play
wait blameless on the bright side.

Someone else’s summer

She’d witnessed vivid skies,
felt warmth in the cradle
of tender palms on skin that
shone in union with the sun,

floated on waves
of sheer completeness
skipped along avenues of smiles
that sang her name

in a time so tightly wrapped
its contents spilled through cracks
in her wretched heart
where mere traces remain.

that play across the features
of governing countenance.
She thinks in whisper
‘its all my fault, whatever it is’

she, who’s pulled from the playground
several years too soon
by the hand
that shuts out light forever.

Summit Tunnel

The homeboy patrolled the platform
hauling a case full of troubles;
a youth, unprepared, undercooked, fidgety,
4 minutes from departure.

He could see his half-life below,
wished to wallow in its familiar frown,
allow his timidity licence to return
to the arms of invisibility.

The village continued its sophistry;
July sunrise presented limestone ripples,
clouds created kaleidoscopic greens,
the old mill beseeched him, remain
within its simplicity,
content to drink life from cupped hands.

A cursory glance to the exit;
would he prove them right?
‘would he eckerslike’,
yet fearing the train’s arrival,
he hoped it would run out of steam,
hiss to a stop, forever
lost in the tunnel a mile
from his inward mitherings.

Through branches of dappled summer,
he looked down at the bus stop
from where his ride to that point had
terminated at the limits of imagination,
while he waited for adventure
far beyond ambition.